


sweet are the fruits of patience

by renquise



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Multi, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/pseuds/renquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of cakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet are the fruits of patience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/gifts).



The first was a dainty little cake, barely the size of a crown, that rested on his desk when he came into his office. A light, fluffy thing, no doubt the kind of whipped egg-white confection that would dissolve over the tongue in a trice: not something that could stand long before deflating or going stale, and that meant that whoever had delivered it could not have left too long ago. 

Stephen had not stayed in his position by being fool enough to eat whatever delightful-looking temptation crossed his path—he was too well-acquainted with the more esoteric alchemical hobbies that were always present in the upper crust to act otherwise. There was a certain amount of healthy paranoia that one had to cultivate in the company of the rich and ambitious, for all that he was not nearly important enough to waste good alchemical work on.

It wasn’t without a twinge of regret, however, that he fed the cake to a pigeon outside the window. The bird seemed no less the worse for it, but then again, the birds of Camorr had uncommonly sturdy stomachs. 

The second was a thin, scalloped wafer that barely contained a frothy extravagance of cream and—coffee, to judge by the smell. Still, the aroma could be misleading: the recent vogue among the more adventurous pastry cooks included desserts whose aroma did not match the taste, producing an intriguing contrast to the palate. Not that he was on top of these particular developments, of course. It was merely useful to be friendly with the kitchens of various households.

Fortunately, it was easy enough to scoop off a bit of the cream and offer it to the beak already waiting eagerly by the window. When the bird continued to watch him expectantly and didn’t show any signs of suddenly keeling over, he shrugged and took up the tiny spoon that lay alongside the dessert.

The scent of coffee but the taste of brandy and a touch of cardamom: subtle, clever, and extremely delicious. Not to mention intriguing. He swiped the last bit of cream from the plate and sucked it off his fingers, avoiding the beady glare of the bird out the window. 

Don Lorenzo made an odd face when he walked into his office to consult on the latest happenings in the temple district, and Stephen really, really hoped that he hadn’t made noises of appreciation that were possibly inappropriate for the workplace.

The third: a crisp shell, still warm, that cracked open to reveal a smooth, chilled heart of mint and lemon ice. The bird was steadily growing plumper, and would soon be having trouble getting up to the window.

Stephen was not a poet in the slightest. Dona Vorchenza had never been one for poetry, and he had never picked up the taste for it himself. Composing the appropriate courtly poem in return for a gift would no doubt result in the most excruciating doggerel, which he would not wish upon anybody, least of all purveyors of baked goods—not to mention that it would require acknowledging whatever favour was no doubt expected in return for a gift. Stephen winced on both counts. He could very well track down whoever was behind these, but it was perhaps simpler for everyone involved to let it pass as a simple kindness.

Nonetheless, he had to shove a few scraps of verse out of Dona Sofia's view when she came across them in his files, and he couldn't help but redden when Dona Sofia's eyes widened and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The fourth: a small, dense cube of chocolate ganache with a flourish of cool rosemary that tripped off the warmth of the cocoa like a breeze.

It had been a long, long day, and Stephen thought he was quite justified in kicking his feet up on his desk and letting the sweet slowly melt over his tongue.

Dona Vorchenza had said that her part was played and that she would be retiring to the countryside to knit blankets for orphans—Stephen had almost burst out laughing when she told him that, because that would last about a week, on the outside—but she had stayed true to the spirit of her intention, leaving him in the care of Dona Sofia and Don Lorenzo, and the transition had gone as smoothly as any of them could expect. Better, even; though all three of them were perpetually wanting for sleep, the same late nights had shown that they balanced each other, that he could learn as much from the Salvaras's breadth of experiences as they from him.

Stephen didn’t quite know what to do with the plates, or the delicate little forks that came with the sweets. He left them on top of the latest stack of correspondence, and they always seemed to be gone by the time he was back from putting out the latest fire.

The fifth: a simple honey and almond pastry, flaky with butter and topped with a dollop of sweet cream. 

The sixth: a layered fruit confection, each shining flavour sliding into another like a prism.

The seventh came with a knock on the door and the now-familiar presence of Dona Sofia and Don Lorenzo in his office. 

Stephen stood up, nearly displacing a stack of correspondence. Don Lorenzo placed a familiar dainty plate and fork on the precarious stack, and Stephen opened and closed his mouth a few times, fumbling for his words. 

“I—thank you, in all sincerity. But you must surely know that you already have my loyalty, if that was what you desired,” Stephen said, kicking himself for implying the possibility of less than noble intentions. Dona Sofia and Don Lorenzo were both golden and beautiful in the candlelight, and they were clever and ambitious and generous, and Stephen, for all his experience, was occasionally at a loss when faced with their combined charms.

“My dear Stephen, we both value your loyalty beyond reckoning, but would you mind if we were terribly blunt for a moment?” Dona Sofia said, sitting on his desk and arranging her skirts around herself.

Don Lorenzo perched himself at her side. “We would very much like it if you could join us in a, ah, more intimate capacity as well,” Don Lorenzo said, his finger tracing around the edge of the plate.

“If you so wish, with no strings attached,” Dona Sofia finished for him. “Unless you want said strings, in which case we would be more than happy to provide.”

“Oh,” said Stephen.

“Yes, oh,” said Dona Sofia, handing the cake to him.

The seventh was just as lovely as the rest, all the more because it came with the taste of Dona Sofia's able fingers and of Don Lorenzo's smiling mouth.


End file.
